


I Always Believed In Futures

by robotsfighting



Category: Glee
Genre: 2.22 New York, M/M, reaction fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-20
Updated: 2011-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-23 21:31:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotsfighting/pseuds/robotsfighting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Blaine have the conversation about New York. Blaine remains bad at timing things. Kurt continues to benefit from that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Always Believed In Futures

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from [Futures](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9qPw4kv43gk) by Jimmy Eat World.

Mercedes fell asleep somewhere between _Roxanne_ and _The Show Must Go On_. Kurt stayed where he was on the couch, curled against her side, smiling at the gentle lift and fall of her chest until the credits flickered in the dark of her living room. He could see their hands wound together on her knee by the unsteady light. The digital clock on the cable box beneath the TV glowed ` 12:50 AM`; apparently not even _Moulin Rouge!_ could keep Mercedes awake past 12:30. Girl liked her beauty sleep.

Kurt didn’t care. He tucked himself closer to her, laying his head against her shoulder and letting his eyes close, enjoying the warmth of her, and the contented little sound she made when she pressed back against him. This was _nice_. Cuddling with Mercedes and watching sad musicals. Falling asleep on the couch accidentally and being awoken the next morning by Mercedes’ mother offering breakfast and grinning at them in their pajamas like nine-year-olds. He had missed this so much when he was at Dalton. All-nighters with the Warblers weren’t the same as Girls’ Night, even if the Warblers only had a slightly better grasp of personal boundaries.

The fact that he had missed _this_ most of all, the physicality, was sort of startling. Because at the beginning of sophomore year, touch was something that would make Kurt freeze up, back away, cross his arms, maybe flee. It was a testament to how much things had changed since then, that drifting with his eyes closed lying against Mercedes in her footie pajamas was something that made him feel so calm and warm.

On the ottoman, his phone chimed. He opened one eye, caught somewhere between amusement at being interrupted and pleasure at probably knowing who it was. Trying his best not to move very much, he slowly stretched his arm out and dragged the phone closer with the very tips of his fingers until he could pick it up and bring it over.

From: Blaine  
 _Going to bed. Good night. <3_

He smiled. Then he considered: Mercedes hadn’t budged when the phone went off, so maybe she was out enough that he could do this without waking her up. Slowly, _very slowly_ , he sat up and away. She didn’t move. He carefully stood up, and still nothing changed, so he breathed out a relieved sigh and walked with tiny steps out of the living room, through the dining room and into the kitchen. It was lit only by the dim light over the stove. Kurt stood at the center of the room on the cold tile and pressed _Blaine <3_ in his phone’s contacts list.

It rang once before Blaine picked it up. “Hi,” he said, sounding surprised but pleased. “I thought you were with Mercedes tonight.”

“I am,” Kurt said. He leaned back against the counter, looking down at his feet against the black-and-white tile. “She fell asleep a little while ago. Even Ewan McGregor can’t keep her up this late.”

Blaine hummed. “That’s real dedication to sleep.”

“What’re you doing?” Kurt asked. The stove light cast shadows of the little salt and pepper statuettes on the stovetop against the floor, and he stared at their elongated forms, like tall thin monsters.

“Getting ready for bed,” Blaine said. “Talking to you. Standing in the middle of my room, looking for the t-shirt I had in my hands two minutes ago. What are you doing?”

Kurt smirked. “Standing in Mercedes’ kitchen in the dark, talking to you, imagining you standing shirtless in the middle of your bedroom.”

Blaine laughed. “I’d ask you what you’re wearing, but, you know. Mercedes’ kitchen.” There was the sound of Blaine shuffling through something on the other end, and Kurt didn’t answer, because something was caught in his throat and making it difficult to breathe, because Blaine had definitely just casually referenced a segue to phonesex. He heard Blaine notice the pause, and the shuffling stopped. There was a brief silence. “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding truly apologetic. “Too much?”

Kurt cleared his throat, blinking. “No,” he said, offhand, maybe a little too high, “but you probably wouldn’t have much to work with. Flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. Not terribly titillating.”

He could _hear_ Blaine’s smile on the other end. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to hang up on me?”

“That depends,” Kurt said, looking down to where the cuffs of his pajamas brushed softly over tops of his feet, too long and unhemmed. “You can try.”

“I’m imagining you in PJ’s right now,” Blaine said, “and it’s completely adorable.”

“Mood officially shattered,” Kurt told the ceiling. “Baby penguin makes a comeback.”

“You were never a baby penguin,” Blaine hummed.

“This time I’m talking about you.”

Blaine made a soft _oof_ noise accompanied by an impact, and Kurt knew he’d just thrown himself onto his bed. “I miss you,” Blaine said. “Have I mentioned that recently?”

“I don’t know,” Kurt said, thoughtful. He leaned back more against the counter, his elbow on the marble. “Let me check all fifty of your texts from today.”

“So I missed you a lot today.”

“You seem to miss me a lot _every_ day,” Kurt said, grinning despite himself. “My dad’s going to kill you.”

“You have unlimited texting. Also, your dad loves me.”

“Yeah, well,” Kurt said, shrugging. “He loves me more. Sorry. I win.”

They were quiet for a while. Kurt listened to the whistle of the wind through the trees outside, the soft, gusty sound of it battering against the sliding glass door. He loved Mercedes’ house. It was always quiet, and everything was sort of plush and warm. It suited her, and her family, like Kurt’s house suited his family. ( _Family_. It still sounded as important and unprecedented as it had the day of the wedding, but it kept getting more and more true.) He liked to escape here, sometimes, because Finn and Carole were loud where Burt and Kurt had always been soft, and it was nice to be in the house of an only child, where there was no fighting and everything came sort of easily. No matter how much he loved Finn (and he did, honestly; it had settled over him unexpectedly, enough to startle him when he realized), he still couldn’t help but sometimes miss the way the world had centered around just himself for so long.

He thought of Mercedes, still warm and pliant on the sofa in the living room, and smiled, because he would be able to go back in there and reassume his position curled against her side. But Blaine was alone in his bedroom in his silent house, and Kurt felt vaguely sorry for that, in a way that he couldn’t touch very easily.

“So, are you coming to see me tomorrow?” Kurt asked, drumming his fingers against the marble countertop behind him.

“I don’t know,” Blaine said, musing. “You’ve spent about half of this conversation making fun of me.”

“Yes, because that’s so different from the norm.”

He heard Blaine huff a soft laugh. It petered away, quiet, into a thoughtful silence, and Kurt felt his eyebrows draw together already. It felt heavier than usual. He heard Blaine take a breath in, then let it out. “Kurt,” he said, softly. “I was thinking about something today – actually, for a while, but – today.” He paused. “I don’t know if this is a good conversation to have over the phone.”

Kurt’s fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. “Is it something bad?”

“I – don’t actually know yet.”

Kurt closed his eyes. “Well, now that I’m panicking about it, it might as well be a phone conversation.”

“Kurt, no, don’t panic about it – we can talk about it tomorrow, it’s fine--”

“Blaine,” Kurt said, cutting him off, speaking slowly. “If we don’t talk about it now, I am going to sit in this kitchen all night wondering what it is, and that lack of sleep will destroy both my skin and my sanity.” He let out a breath. “What have you been thinking about?”

Blaine was silent for a moment. “I’m really bad at timing these things.”

Kurt sighed. “You really are.”

“Okay,” Blaine said. “Okay. Listen.” There was another series of shuffling sounds, and Kurt could imagine Blaine drawing himself up in bed, sitting up against his headboard. Blaine didn’t have important discussions in relaxed positions. Blaine was sort of neurotic about that; he treated arguments or significant conversations like they were business deals, sitting with backs straight, facing each other. “Junior year is ending soon, and everyone is starting to talk about college, and I’ve been thinking lately – about where you want to go. About where I want to go.”

Kurt swallowed. If he was being perfectly honest, he had been doing everything in his power _not_ to think about that, because it was sort of terrifying. He hummed for Blaine to continue, a little strained, too high.

“I don’t – know how to ask you. What you want to do about it.”

Kurt said faintly, “What do _you_ want to do about it?”

“Nothing is a dealbreaker,” Blaine answered quickly, fiercely, with enough conviction to make Kurt blink at the room in front of him. “I don’t care if you want to go to school on the moon. I want this, with you. If it’s far, we’ll deal with it.”

“Blaine,” Kurt murmured. He stared down at the linoleum, just trying to breathe normally. “We’ve been going out for a month and a half.” _I haven’t even told you that I love you. The fact that I would still want to date you if you were going to the University of Pluto is totally beside the point._

“I’ve cared about you a lot longer than that,” Blaine said quietly. “You’ve been my best friend for more than half a year.”

That tugged something in Kurt, something important and up-high. He slowly lowered himself to sit on the floor, his back against the smooth wood of the lower cabinets, his legs stretched out in front of him. _You’ve been my best friend for more than half a year._ Anyone could be a boyfriend. _Boyfriend_ didn’t really necessitate much emotional intimacy past carrying someone’s books between classes, if you looked at the average high school romance. But, best friend. It made something thrill a little inside of Kurt, for Blaine to just _say_ that, because it was so true about them, the way they were, all of the trust and closeness, but it was still incredible to him.

“I’d be asking you about this even if we weren’t dating,” Blaine murmured.

Kurt let his head fall back against the cabinets, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t want us to change our plans around each other. Despite how much I will actually want to do that.”

Blaine let out an unhappy laugh. “I understand that. Believe me. We’re – I’m not putting down our relationship when I say this, Kurt, I swear, but – we’re really young.” He paused. “Saying that makes me feel like my father. But I understand why it would be bad for us to--” He sighed. “God.”

Kurt smiled miserably. “And here I thought you were a hopeless romantic.” This was way too much to deal with at seventeen.

“Kurt,” Blaine said softly. He took a breath, as if to steady himself. “Where do you want to go to college?”

Kurt shook his head, clamping his eyes closed. “New York,” he whispered. “FIT. Julliard. Somewhere. I can’t decide.”

There was a very, very long silence at the other end of the phone. Kurt felt his stomach dropping slowly down in his abdomen, his heart following. This was something they would deal with, this was just something they would have to get through, another hurdle, it would be fine, it would be—

“Kurt,” Blaine said again, and he sounded sort of winded, his voice breaking like he’d been punched. “Really?”

Kurt sniffed. “Yes.”

Another pause. Then Blaine said, very quietly, “I’m sort of regretting asking you that question first.”

“Why?”

“I’m – I’m not sure if you’re going to believe my answer now.”

Kurt sat up a little. “Blaine,” he breathed. “Where do you want to go to college?”

Blaine’s breath crackled through the receiver. “NYU,” he said, dazed. “New York. I want – New York.”

They both went very quiet. In front of Kurt, the shadow monsters of the salt and pepper shakers still rested on the tile; the wind buffeted around the house in little gasps, with the whispering shake of the trees. The time on the microwave clock ticked over to the next minute.

“You really didn’t just make that up?” Kurt asked.

“I really didn’t,” Blaine whispered.

“Blaine.” Kurt could feel that his eyes were huge, in some distant way, staring down unseeing at his free hand limp in his lap. “Blaine, oh my god.”

“I know!” Blaine said, and Kurt could hear that he already starting to grin like an idiot, moving past the shock and into the incredible happiness that Kurt could feel himself starting to fall into. “Oh my god, Kurt, oh my god--”

“This is really not the way I thought this conversation would go,” Kurt said faintly.

“New York!” Blaine half-shouted. “You would be amazing at FIT _or_ Julliard, Kurt, you’re so talented--”

“Why NYU?” Kurt asked, feeling his lips start to turn up into a smile, his heart starting to rise back up. “Why New York, for you?”

“I love that city,” Blaine said sincerely, earnestly. “I’ve wanted to be there ever since – my brother lives there, and I visited him once when I was fourteen, and – god, Kurt, that city. I’ve never felt so natural somewhere. A lot of that was probably Joel, but a lot of was just _everything_ , and NYU is a great school. I’m not really sure what I want to do yet, but I can figure it out there as easily as anywhere else.”

Kurt laughed. “I honestly can’t believe this.”

“Why you?” Blaine asked, his voice warmly curious. “Why New York?”

Kurt let out a very long, musical sigh. “I don’t even know why you have to ask.”

He heard Blaine laughing on the other end. “Broadway, culture, fashion--”

“Freedom,” Kurt said, humming. “I can be whoever I want to be, there, with much less chance of being thrown into dumpsters.” He paused, blinking. “I get to do that with _you_.” His voice was hushed with the realization just starting to bloom in his head.

“Kurt,” Blaine murmured fondly. “I get to hold your hand in Central Park. I get to kiss you in the middle of Times Square.”

Kurt could feel himself blushing from the roots of his hair to his neck. It felt so childish, to talk like that, but it might be true, someday – someday _soon_ , and that was _amazing_. If they stayed together – and Kurt felt like they would, which felt equally childish but just as defiantly true – they might actually have this with each other, share all of these things that were suddenly spinning through Kurt’s mind: an apartment between their campuses, nights out, favorite places that they would find together. It was like some kind of dream, very slowly coming true, and he could push whatever doubt he had away for now, because it felt so simple, suddenly, that they could be together. That they could _stay together_.

“I’m so happy that you’re terrible at timing these conversations,” Kurt said, smirking.

“So am I,” Blaine laughed. “Although I sort of wish we’d had this conversation face-to-face so I could be kissing you right now.”

Kurt smiled. He held up his free hand to grab the counter and pull himself to his feet, swaying a little. “Tomorrow,” he said. “I’m still going to be happy about this tomorrow.”

“So am I,” Blaine murmured. Then he yawned.

“Am I boring you?” Kurt teased, raising an eyebrow.

“No, sorry. Long day,” Blaine said. “Ended well, though.”

“I’ll say.” The microwave clock rolled over to `1:23 AM`, and Kurt sighed. “Go to bed. I should try to convince Mercedes that her bed is more comfortable than her couch.”

Another yawn. “I wish you the best of luck.”

Kurt laughed. “Good night, Blaine,” he murmured, head ducked, both of his hands cupping his phone as he smiled warmly.

Blaine let out a sweet little sigh that seemed to move all the way through Kurt. “Good night, Kurt.”

Kurt waited for a moment, then took the phone away from his ear and ended the call. His phone’s wallpaper came up to greet him: a picture Nick had taken of the two of them, sprawled in the grass on the campus at Dalton, Kurt’s head on Blaine’s chest, both of them smiling and surprised.

New York. This was actually going to happen.

Still clutching his phone, Kurt crossed back through the dining room and into the living room, stepping across in the dark to turn off the television, now stuck in a loop on the DVD’s menu screen. He turned back to see the vague outline of Mercedes, still in the same position. He smiled and went to her, carefully shaking her shoulder.

“Wake up, boo,” he murmured. “Sleeping sitting up is one of the main causes of neck problems, or something.”

Mercedes blinked at him, squinting in the dark. “Kurt?”

“That’s me.” He tugged at her arms a little. “Let’s go to bed.”

Mercedes hummed, letting him pull her up and start her toward the stairs. “Why do you look so happy, baby?” she asked, her voice loose. “Something good?”

“Yep,” Kurt said softly, guiding her carefully up the steps. “Very good.”

“What happened?”

Kurt grinned. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight, he knew; or if he did then it would be full of dreams about skylines and lights and two-part harmony to music on the radio, all domestic and safe and glowing softly on the horizon, growing slowly, slowly closer.

“Just a lot of dreams coming true at the same time, boo,” Kurt murmured as he opened her bedroom door. “I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.”


End file.
